


The Dwarven Ring

by Perelynn



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-19
Packaged: 2017-11-25 09:00:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perelynn/pseuds/Perelynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin sees a ring in Bilbo’s hands, and starts asking questions. Spoilers for the book, starting from events in Mirkwood and further. Sudden plot twist. The story adds to the canon, but, unbelievable as it may sound, does not really upset any of the big events. Bit of detective story in the end. No slash whatsoever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Lake-Town

The Lake-folk have been most hospitable. Dwarves were doctored and fed and housed and pampered in the most delightful and satisfactory fashion. A large house was given up to Thorin and his company; and crowds sat outside and sang songs all day, or cheered if any dwarf showed so much as their nose. 

Bilbo did not take much delight in the festivities. First he had a severe cold, and even when it passed he did not feel particularly cheerful. He didn’t forget the look of the Mountain, or the thought of the dragon. Also, he had other things to worry about.

Bilbo turned the new ring in his fingers. With all the fuss of escape and the barrel business he didn't really had much time to look at it. Unlike the other, this one was pale gold, with carvings on it, looking very much like the old Elven runes on the map Thorin had. The ring was nice and smooth to touch, and the carvings tickled his fingertips pleasantly.

'How came you by this?' came a deep voice from behind him. Bilbo startled. Thorin stood next to him, wearing the most peculiar expression.

Since the beginning of the journey, Bilbo had seen many of emotions on this regal face. He’d seen it brooding, concerned, enraged, contorted in a battlecry. But never before he’d seen Thorin so smitten with awe. Even the moment at Carrock when they were looking at distant Erebor paled in comparison.

‘Can I see?’ asked the Dwarven King, extending his hand. 

There was no reason for Bilbo to refuse. Moreover, he felt Thorin would not take ‘no’ for an answer.

The king took the ring eagerly, turning the precious thing this way and that, scrutinizing it most intensely. When he finally spoke, his voice was even deeper than usual. It vibrated, sending shivers down the listener’s spine.

‘This ring belonged to my father, Thráin, and to my grandfather, Thrór, before him,’ he announced dreamily. ‘My father wore it when he went under the Azanulbizar, where he was murdered by Azog the Defiler. It was not on the Pale Orc’s hand that I cut out in the battle. I thought it was lost forever. How come you have it?’

By the end of this speech, all the dwarves gathered around Bilbo and Thorin, feeling something singular was going on.

‘When I told you my tale while you were still sitting in your cell, I did not tell you all of it,’ Bilbo answered. Dwalin frowned suspiciously. Oin stuck his listening device into his ear. Bofur and Balin exchanged smiles. Bilbo saw Kili nudge Fili excitedly.

‘Well,’ Thorin’s smiled gently, his dark blue eyes twinkling. ‘Now seems to be the time for it.’


	2. The return of the ring

‘You remember how we escaped the Elvenking in the barrels?’ Bilbo asked. The dwarves nodded. Such endeavour was hard to forget. ‘This would be a story how I found out about this other entrance to the Elven caves.’

‘I was wandering around the palace,’ he began, ‘looking for something to do and something to eat, when I saw a company of Wood-elves, with the king at their head, about to ride out to hunt. The front gates are shut by magic, but I was quick and managed to get out. It’s not that I had a plan, more like I wanted to see something other than caves for a change.’

‘You were scouting around,’ Balin nodded. ‘Very reasonable thing for a burglar to do.’

‘Yes, yes, thank you, Balin,’ said Bilbo with gratitude. ‘Well, I couldn’t really follow the hunt party around. They were riding and I was afoot.’

The dwarves murmured their agreement.

‘So I was striding in the forest within the sight of the main gates, when it happened. The wood darkened, and when I looked up at the sky, I saw it turned the most alarming shade of black. Then the thunder came, and then the lightning, but it was red, not white. Again and again it flashed, but there was no rain yet. I decided not to wait for it and ran towards the gates.’

The dwarves listened eagerly. Even the implacable Dwalin looked curious.

‘And then they came,’ Bilbo continued. ‘Spiders. They were running like mad, throwing their webs here and there. I tried to avoid them, but they didn’t really pay much attention to me. The red lightning spooked them, I reckon. They were frightened by it.’

‘And you?’ asked Kili gingerly. ‘You were not frightened at all, I bet!’

‘I was, actually,’ Bilbo admitted. ‘I was terrified out of my wits. I put on my ring and ran for my life. Only I lost the sight of the gates, and when I finally came to my senses, they were nowhere to be seen.’

‘You got lost in the Mirkwood?’ asked Dori incredulously. ‘Again?’

‘And managed to find your way back?’ added Bofur.

‘Our burglar definitely has more in him than meets an eye,’ said Thorin. ‘Do continue, Mister Baggins’.

‘I really didn’t know where I was going,’ Bilbo said. ‘It was dark, and the night was approaching. I think I may have tripped and lay unconscious for a while, I’m not sure. The light was brighter when I woke up. I was getting very hungry, too. And suddenly I saw it. The old fortress.’ 

‘Fortress?’ the dwarves cried. ‘What fortress? Not the palace of Elvenking you mean?’ 

It was Thorin’s deep voice that cut through the clamour.

‘Are you saying you ended up in Dol Guldur?’ he asked. ‘The stronghold of the Necromancer?’

Bilbo shuddered.

‘Now I think you may be right,’ he said. ‘At that point I didn’t really think much of it. I was very hungry and utterly lost. The fortress looked abandoned, but I could tell someone has been there recently. The great bridge was blackened with soot, as if there was a huge fire on it just a day before.’

‘And you wandered in?’ Thorin repeated. Bilbo could sense his disapproval at such a reckless action.

‘I was hungry,’ he said defensively. ‘And there was not much for me to do. I put my ring on and crossed the bridge.’

Thorin shook his head.

‘I admire your courage, Bilbo Baggins.’ 

Bilbo shifted uncomfortably.

‘It was not really courage,’ he admitted grudgingly. ‘I felt almost compelled to go there.’

‘The pull of dark magic,’ Balin whispered. 

'And the Necromancer?' Kili asked, wide-eyed. 'Have you seen him?'

'Oh, no, no, good gracious, no! I think he was not home at the time. The fortress was entirely empty. No food, either.’ Bilbo sighed. ‘I was wandering aimlessly thinking of what to do next, when I saw it. The ring,’ he nodded at the piece of jewellery on Thorin’s finger. Already the king was wearing it as if the ring belonged to him all this time.

‘It was laying on the table in a small dark room,’ Bilbo said. ‘I’m not even sure how I noticed it. It was sort of shining in the dark. I went inside the room to pick it up...’ Bilbo’s voice trailed off. 

‘Yes?’ Thorin prompted. Bilbo shivered.

‘Take pity on the poor lad!’ Bofur exclaimed. Balin patted Bilbo affectionately. ‘It’s all right, laddie, it’s over. You’re safe now.’

‘I don’t really have words to describe it,’ the hobbit whispered. He didn’t seem to notice Bofur’s interruption and Balin’s ministrations. ‘It was like something was searching for me, piercing me with an invisible gaze. I have never been that frightened in my entire life. I grabbed the ring, and ran.’ 

‘You escaped the fortress,’ Kili stated admiringly.

‘Yes, yes, I did. At the time the only thought I had was to get as far from it as possible. And then I came by the river.’

‘The river!’ Gloin shouted, brightening up. ‘That’s how you got back!’

‘Well, yes. I thought about building a raft, but I was too scared to linger. I saw eyes... insect eyes, only much too big, gleaming in the darkness between the trees. So I just found a suitable log and paddled into the middle of the stream. It was pretty fast, you know. And the log was hard to navigate. But after the old fortress my sense of fear sort of dimmed for a while.’

‘No wonder!’ Balin said.

‘So the river brought me back into the forest. And I was really amazed when I heard the voices of elves and saw the barrels dropping from above. That’s how I discovered there was another entrance to the caves. I paddled towards the shore and went back to the palace. I never thought I would be so glad to return to my prison. Soon after that, the feast happened, and I found my chance to steal the keys and let you out. That’s the story.’

The hobbit fell silent. The dwarves looked at him with new respect. 

‘Upon my word,’ said Thorin. ‘Gandalf spoke true, as usual. A pretty fine burglar you make, it seems, when the time comes.’ 

Bilbo’s smile was almost apologetic. He looked at the pale ring that was now embellishing the royal finger. He didn’t even have time to study it properly. But Bilbo knew there was no way of taking it from Thorin now. Not that he wanted to, anyway. The ring belonged to Thorin’s father and grandfather. It was his by right.

Thorin, too, was examining the heirloom of his house. ‘We’ll take it as a sign,’ he whispered. ‘ A good omen. The keepsake of my fathers has returned to me. The gods gave our Quest their blessing.’ 

When Thorin spoke aloud again, the gold gleamed on his neck and waist, and his eyes were dark and deep. He looked every inch a king. 

‘Bilbo Baggins,’ he said. ‘Your returned my family heirloom to me, and for this service you deserve the handsomest reward. I grant you the permission to enter the treasure room of my forebears (when all the business with old Smaug is done and solved) and pick a single item, any item, from the whole hoard. Name it, and it shall be yours.’ 

‘I thank you, Thorin Oakenshield.’ Bilbo said, deeply moved. ‘And I am sure the hoard of your fathers can offer a wide variety of wonderful objects to pick from. I’ll gladly accept your gift when the treasure finally comes to our possession.’

(to be continued...)


	3. Thorin the ring-bearer

Bilbo refilled his pipe with the last remnants of tobacco leaves from the Lake-town. He just finished his supper, which consisted mainly of _cram_ , and he still was hungry. He had enough of _cram_ , enough of the Mountain, enough of this adventure.

Bilbo learned long ago that dwarves were a proud, fierce, ambitious (and greedy) race. And the leader of their party came through as the most proud, fierce, ambitious (and greedy) of all. His desire to reclaim the lost home burned hot within him, but no less flaming was his ache to become king again, to have riches, to rule.

The closer the Company got to the Mountain, the more prominent became Thorin's hunger for the lost treasure. The hobbit often recalled the warm look and gentle smile the king treated him with when the great ring of his grandfather returned to him. That was the last time Bilbo saw warmth in Thorin's fine features.

Now, with Smaug slain by Bard the Bowman, the change in their leader has become complete. Thorin looked powerful and more regal than ever, but there was a new gleam to his eyes. He spent his days counting coins, examining gems and precious stones, sorting goblets and plates, piling weapons and armor. 'The ring needs good to breed gold,' he frequently said. This explanation seemed sufficient for dwarves, but to Bilbo Thorin's behaviour looked too much like an obsession.

But it was not the main thing that bothered the little hobbit. After all, all thirteen dwarves had their hearts aflame ever since they entered the mountain. Even Bilbo himself couldn't resist the pull of the treasure. The hobbit touched his jacket absent-mindedly, where, in one of the deepest pockets, wrapped in his old garment, Arkenstone was hidden.

No, the most bewildering part were Thorin's speeches. Every time when the dwarves gathered together for an evening meal, their leader started talking. He stood, tall and proud, his shadow long, his voice vibrating through the hall. And the moment he opened his mouth the world fell into some sort of a dream. Thorin's words were strong and fierce, for he was speaking of many misfortunes of his people, of lost battles, of old betrayals. He was talking about Necromancer torturing his father to death, and the Elvenking breaking an ancient oath. He was calling for revenge to all who mistreated his race in the past. Or sometimes his thoughts turned towards restoring the former glory, and then he spoke of reopening old trade roads, restarting abandoned mines, re-uniting all seven houses.

Bilbo didn't understand. They were shut down under the Mountain eating the scraps of _cram_ the Lake-folk provided them with. The year was declining, the winter crept closer every day. There were only fourteen of them in the ghostly huge halls. The united armies of Elves and Men were marching to their gates. And yet Thorin spoke of warring with Mirkwood and Dol Guldur, as if the forces of the aforementioned seven houses were already at his disposal. And, stranger still, the dwarves listened. Not a single one of them - neither good-hearted Bofur, nor food-loving Bombur - raised a slightest objection or concern. Even Balin, old, wise, down-to-earth Balin, sat with his eyes glimmering when his king spoke of reclaiming Moria. It was like some enchantment was cast on them, some charm, some dark and powerful magic. The hobbit seemed to be the only one unaffected by it.

Bilbo wished Gandalf was here. The wizard used to be one of the few Thorin listened to. But the days passed with no wizard to make an appearance, and one day it fell on Bilbo's lot to do the talking.

It was the day when Elvenking and Bard the Bowman came as envoys to the Main Gates to parley with the King under the Mountain. When Bard spoke of the dragon and the devastation Smaug wrought in Esgaroth before being slain, Bilbo thought Thorin would see reason and justice of those words. But the king's response was cold and full of contempt, and he refused to give anything, even a smallest coin, under the threat of force.

That evening, Bilbo stood on the wall that barred the Gates, his eyes on distant fires. He longed to go down to the valley, to join men and elves in their feasting and merriment. He knew young Ori was of similar mind. So were, he suspected, Fili and Kili, only they didn't dare to express such treacherous desires in front of their royal uncle.

The meeting with envoys left Thorin in foul temper. So dwarves produced harps and flutes they found in the hoard, and made music to soften his mood. It seemed to work. Thorin smiled and retreated to the treasure room - and beckoned Bilbo to join him.

It was the first time since Esgaroth Bilbo found himself one-on-one with Thorin, and the first time when the hobbit appreciated how much their king really changed. Before, Thorin Oakenshield looked noble and proud, but there was a slightest haunted look about him, a streak of uncertainty, a shade of fear, almost impossible to spot. All of this was gone now. The king's self-confidence was monumental, rock-solid, absolute.

'Mister Baggins,' Thorin said, when they were alone. 'It is past time I rewarded you for your loyal services. I haven't forgotten the promise I gave when you brought back my ring back to me. You had enough time to look through my treasure. Pick your reward!'

So powerful was his voice, so regal was his face, so majestic was his bearing that Bilbo trembled, seized by an uncontrollable desire to kneel and pledge his sword and soul to this mighty king. To tell him everything, about his doubts, about Arkenstone, to beg forgiveness for anything he did wrong.

'I cannot,' he squeaked, not knowing whether he's talking about his urge, or about his reward.

Thorin gave a short nod.

'Hard to choose, Master Hobbit?' His deep voice was almost teasing. 'I would imagine so. My people have made many wonderful things.'

Bilbo gathered his courage.

'Why were you so unkind to the envoys today, Thorin?' he asked. 'They came to offer you peace...'

The king's face darkened.

'Peace!' he exclaimed, his eyes ablaze. 'Peace with Elves! I will take no such offer. The word of Elves is worth nothing, my grandfather has learned it long ago. And so did I, in the Elvenking's dungeons!'

Bilbo backtracked at once.

'I understand your feelings about Elves,' he assured hastily. 'But Bard the Bowman is of Men, and he killed the old Smaug for us.'

'I have little trust to those who sides with Elves,' Thorin replied, unmoved. 'Do they think they can dictate their conditions to the King under the Mountain? Indeed, they are mistaken. Dain Ironfoot, my cousin, is coming here with great force as we speak. Soon, my enemies will learn the mistake of their ways.'

'Oh, I wish Gandalf was here!' Bilbo cried, exasperated. The little hobbit felt he was not made for talking sense to kings.

'Don't speak to me of Gandalf the Grey!' Thorin flared. 'I'm done dealing with wizards and their plots. He promised us help, yet he abandoned us at Mirkwood, right at the face of danger. He might have been leading us there all along.'

'It was Gandalf who introduced me to your Company in the first place,' Bilbo reminded wretchedly.

Thorin's stern face softened somewhat.

'You, my friend,' said the king, putting his hand on the hobbit's shoulder, 'you are a different matter. I trust you. You fought for me.'

Bilbo suddenly found it was much harder to oppose Thorin's kindness than his fury.

'Gandalf fought for you too,' the hobbit said weakly. The king waved it away.

'Gandalf fought for himself,' he said dismissively. 'The wizard had other plans, hidden plans, regarding our journey. He has admitted it himself. But you... I remember the words you said to me before Carrock. You followed me because your heart demanded it, not because some wizard told you to.'

'This is true,' Bilbo had to agree.

'And you proved yourself worthy beyond all my expectations,' Thorin continued. 'I do count on you and your skills. You know my plans. You know how much is ahead of us. The Quest of Erebor is finished, but I'll need your services and your skills for other quests to come. I need your wits, your stealth, your merry temper. I need you to stay with us, dear friend. I offer you a place in my household.'

Bilbo was stricken. Before, when Thorin spoke of kingdoms and gold and glory, he wasn't really impressed. The notions of splendor and grandeur were all but alien to him. But now Thorin was referring to the things the hobbit could understand, the simple merriments he could relate to. Friendship. Home. If he accepts Thorin's offer, he'll live in Erebor, an esteemed friend, a respectable burglar, a proven brother-in-arms.

A lonely hobbit.

He'll stay here till the end of his days. He'll never see Bag End again. Or meet his cousins. Or tell his story to his nephews and nieces. Or live among his own kind.

And there was no way to dissuade Thorin. He'd take it as an offence.

Bilbo swallowed.

'I thank you for the honor, Thorin Oakenshield,' he managed.

The king smiled. This smile was to haunt Bilbo Baggins for years to come.

'The honor is all mine.'

Thorin turned away and went back to examining the treasure. Bilbo slowly exited the room and walked towards the Main Gates. He has finally made up his mind.

'Bombur,' he greeted the dwarf when he climbed on the top of the wall. 'It's been a long time since I watched. I'll take your turn for you if you like. There is no sleep for me this night.'


	4. The riddle of the ring

'You said I can choose any item, anything at all, from the whole hoard!' Bilbo stuttered, while the strong hands of the King under the Mountain were shaking him violently. The plan that looked so reasonable the night before now turned out a complete disaster. Bilbo tried to talk, to reason, to explain, but couldn't pick the right words, and everything he said made the matter even worse. 'Take it I have disposed of my reward as I wished, and let it go at that!'

'By the beard of Durin!' Thorin growled, enraged. 'Curse Gandalf, curse all wizards and their minions! Never again will I trust anyone apart from my own kin. As for you, traitor, I will throw you to the rocks!'

'Stay! Gandalf is here,' said a voice. The old man with a casket who came with Bard and Elvenking threw aside his hood and cloak. 'If you don't like my burglar, give him back to me.'

'Gladly!' Thorin roared, throwing Bilbo down the wall with such force the hobbit nearly fell off the rocks like he was threatened. 'I am betrayed,' the king said, talking to his fellow companions. 'I could not forbear to redeem the Arkenstone, the treasure of my house. For it I will give one fourteenth share of the hoard in silver and gold, setting aside the gems; but that shall be accounted the promised share of this traitor, and with this reward he shall depart, and you can divide it as you will. He will get little enough, I doubt not.'

Trembling, Bilbo got to his feet, to his short, weak, bruised feet. He felt awful. Not only because he had just been thrown down rather unkindly, but because he did, indeed, felt a traitor. He started this affair about Arkenshone because he was desperate to go home. But now the action seemed incredibly selfish to him. He put his own interests above others, and paid the price. His companions' friendship.

Bard, Gandalf and the Elvenkings were still arguing about the particulars of delivering the treasure, but Bilbo didn't care. He didn't even feel a slightest irritation about Thorin taking back his word and withholding the reward he promised the hobbit for returning the ring. No amount of gold and silver would erase the memory of Thorin Oakenshield looking at him with hatred.

'Well done, Mister Baggins!' said Gandalf to him, when the were going down to the camp. But the hobbit looked at the wizard blearily, and began to sob.

***

The next day, Dain Ironfoot reached the Mountain. And shortly after him, the army of Orcs and Wargs. In front of the common enemy, the other quarrels were forgotten; Men, Elves and Dwarves joined their forces against the foes.

Bilbo had taken his stand on Ravenhill among the Elves. Not because he preferred to defend the Elvenking. There was only one king whom he truly cared to defend. But Thorin and his fellow companions were sitting safely within in the Mountain, so Bilbo chose to stand next to Gandalf, the only friend he had left in the end of this tiresome, soul-breaking journey.

The wizard eyed him apprehensively. Hobbits are not known for being prone to depression and gloomy thoughts. Gandalf had never seen Bilbo staying in low spirits for so long. The wizard would understand if the hobbit was frightened, for the battle beneath them was truly terrible. But Bilbo for some strange reason wasn't scared. Just very, very sad.

Suddenly there was a great shout, and from the Gate came a trumpet call. It was then when Bilbo heard it. The deep fierce voice, shaking like a horn in the valley.

'To me! To me! O my kinsfolk! To me!' Thorin cried. Part of the wall, moved by levers, fell outward with a crash. Out leapt the King under the Mountain, and his companions followed him.

And when Bilbo heard this call, he just couldn't stand still. Gandalf was busy looking into the sky, so the wizard never noticed how the hobbit, light-footed as ever, ran down the slope and stepped onto the battlefield.

Almost at once Bilbo encountered a problem. He could still hear Thorin's voice, but the battle was pretty intense, with Orcs, Men and Elves fighting everywhere, blood splattering, blades clashing, bits and pieces flowing in all directions. Bilbo put on his ring. That seemed the only way to get to Thorin.

It took a long while and all his luck to evade of all the blows, albeit unintentional, coming his way. And the next time when Bilbo saw Thorin the dwarven king fought alone. The hobbit got terrified for a moment before he caught a glimpse of a dozen familiar shapes at the distance and realized the rest of the Company had fallen behind. Thorin looked tremendously fearsome, his strikes deadly, his blade a swirl of blue flame, his ring bright on his finger. He stood alone, and yet Orcs and Wargs were afraid to approach him other than in pack of three of more.

Bilbo was easing Sting out of its scabbard, prepared to take off the ring and to take a place next to the king, when a random blow coming from behind knocked him out cold.

***

In the velvet darkness, he saw eyes. Pale glowing orbs, longing, searching. He has seen these eyes before, although he couldn't quite remember where. They brought the sense of danger. Bilbo tried to escape their piercing gaze, tried to run away, but he couldn't move. He cried... and woke up.

***

'Farewell, my good thief,' Thorin whispered. The king lay on the bunk, wounded with so many wounds he couldn't really move anymore. No one could understand how he even managed to hold this long. 'I wish to part in friendship with you, and would take back my words and deeds at the Gates. If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world. But sad or merry, I must leave it now. Farewell!'

Thorin smiled at Bilbo for the last time before closing his eyes. He looked more peaceful than Bilbo saw him in months. There was no ring on his finger.

***

Gandalf was perplexed. The whole ring business was confusing to say the least. When he first caught a glimpse of Bilbo's ring upon escape from the Misty Mountains, he was pretty sure he recognized the Ring of Power. Which one though? Gandalf had his suspicious. The precious thing was of rich golden color, plain and smooth. A ring came to mind that fit this description.

However, upon arriving to the Lonely Mountain along with the Elvenking and talking to Thorin, Gandalf realized he might have been mistaken. The Dwarven ring, one of the great Seven, was shining upon Thorin's hand. It didn't take the wizard long to put two and two together. The ring he saw after crossing the Misty Mountains must be the same ring Thorin was wearing now. The only thing that bothered Gandalf was the look of the thing. He never saw any of the Seven, but he would expect them look differently from the One. However, the Necromancer got hold of it for some time. Could he have altered the ring somehow? Or maybe the One changed its looks while belonging shortly to Isildur?

And then Thorin died, and the ring disappeared. Dwarves seemed to believe it was lost on the battlefield, and still searching for it, but Gandalf had his doubts. Could it be that Bilbo Baggins, still wounded by Thorin's unjust words, claimed it back while no one was looking? It was not like Bilbo Baggins Gandalf knew, but then, Rings of Power are known to change people. The matter required further investigation. As soon as all this mess resolves itself, he ought to set off to Minas-Tirith.

That's how it happened that Gandalf had to spend whole sixty years trying to making sense of Bilbo's ring.

~fin~

_P.S. I want to thank everyone who favored and followed the story, and especially those who left reviews. It was a pleasure writing for you guys and gals. I hope I didn't mess it up too much. English is my third language, and it shows._

_P.P.S. Anyone guessed where the dwarven ring went?_


End file.
